


the gentle hum of anxiety

by neglectedrainbow



Category: Dear Evan Hansen - Pasek & Paul/Levenson, The Social Network (2010)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Everyone Lives/Nobody Dies, Dear Evan Hansen!Harvard AU, Eventual Happy Ending, F/F, F/M, Gen, Implied Past Addication, Implied Past Self-Harm, Low Self-Esteem, M/M, Recovery, also evan is brazilian!, and they're all jewish bc i say so, endgame tree bros and zolana but there will be other minor relationships, you DON'T have to have seen the movie The Social Network to understand this!
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-06-03
Updated: 2018-06-26
Packaged: 2019-05-17 22:42:44
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 7,394
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14840573
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/neglectedrainbow/pseuds/neglectedrainbow
Summary: Harvard student Connor Murphy invents the social networking site that eventually changes the world. But, he quickly learns that you can't create an entirely new world without destroying the one you already had.OR: It's a self-indulgent The Social Network/Dear Evan Hansen AU.





	1. hand covers bruise

**Author's Note:**

> hello y'all!!! i'm finally back in the writing game, and i'm super excited! you don't have to have seen the movie _The Social Network_ to understand what's going on, but i'll give you some important basics:
> 
> -The Kirkland, Leverett, Dunster, Adams, and Elliot are all houses as Harvard where students live.  
> -The Phoenix Final Club and The Porcellian Final Club are all-male social clubs for undergraduates that are similar to a fraternity, only more prestigious.  
> -WGET, Apache, Mozilla, and perl script are just computer-techy things that I reference, but you don't really need to know anything about them
> 
> also: this is in no way meant to accurately describe the actual founding of facebook, nor is it a good representation of david fincher's movie. everything in this is completely and totally fictional and not really based on true events or people. i'm making no money off of this, i'm just having a fun time. please don't sue me!
> 
> edit: also connor is dating a girl for approx 0.3 seconds in this fic BUT this is set in 2003 and he's going through a bit of an identity crisis at the beginning of it. he's still dealing with internalized homophobia and _wanting_ to want to date a girl. he's not actually attracted to her, and he is still gay.
> 
>  **cw for this chapter:** underage drinking, implied past drug use, vaguely implied past self-harm, negative thoughts and ideation. also jared and connor are not the nicest in this chapter but they will both get better!

It’s 2003 and Connor Murphy doesn’t know what the hell he’s doing. 

Sabrina sits across the table from him, her hands folded calmly over each other, her wrists resting on the table’s edge. She’s perched on the edge of her chair, her left leg is bouncing incessantly, and her head is tilted slightly toward the door, clearly ready to bolt at any given moment. Her brown eyes flicker back to Connor, slowly. Her mouth is moving but Connor doesn’t hear a word. 

“Connor,” she says, her voice hard enough for him to know that this isn’t the first time she’s tried to get his attention. “Are you listening to me?”

Her hair is curly, curlier even than his, tight against her head and eventually falling just above her shoulders. It moves from side to side whenever she turns away from him.

“What?” Sabrina’s eyes narrow, just slightly, but Connor amends himself before anything goes further awry. “Did you know that there are more people with IQs above 140 in China than there are people in the United States?”

“I can’t imagine that being true.”

“Well, it is. And then, of course, how are you supposed to differentiate yourself from an entire group of people who all scored a 1600 on the SAT.” It’s not really a question, so Connor’s voice remains flat at the end of the statement. Water drips down the side of Sabrina’s glass. He’s not sure if it holds vodka or water.

“What’re your sources?”

“What?”

“Your sources on that China thing, because I don’t think it’s true.”

“Well, it is.”

“You got a 1600 on your SAT? So, does that mean you missed literally nothing? Not a single question?”

“I don’t know where I got that information, maybe from--I read it somewhere, I read it somewhere and it was true, so why does a source matter?”

“I just-”

“And, yes.”

Sabrina watches him, one hand reaching out to wrap around the glass. Beads of water seep into the space between her fingers. “Yes, what?”

“I didn’t miss any questions on the SAT. Of course that’s what I was talking about.”

“I’m sorry,” Sabrina said, but her fingers clench around the glass, so Connor can tell she’s not really sorry at all. “It’s just, sometimes you say things so quickly that I can’t tell which part of the previous conversation you’re referring to.”

Connor pushes his hair back, out of his face. “I have a friend, Evan. He made $300,000 betting on oil shares last summer, that’s how he’s gonna define himself in college, make an impression. But, what about me?”

“$300,000? How?”

“He’s good with the weather,” Connor watches another drop of condensation drift down Sabrina’s cup. “And, I could join the rowing team, or maybe something like that, but I can’t, because have you seen the rowing team?” They’re all tall and buff and have broad shoulders and slender hips and long arms.

“What does weather have to do with oil shares?”

Now it’s Connor’s turn to frown. “What?”

“Your friend, Evan. How did he make $300,000 because of the weather?”

“He betted on oil shares in Brazil. He’s from São Paulo.” Connor frowns. _It’s this all a little redundant?_ “I could join a Final Club. That’s how I can differentiate myself.”

“A Finals Club?”

“No, a Final Club. Not ‘Finals.’ Singular.”

Sabrina brings the glass to her lips, downing the rest of it easily. Okay, then, water it is. “Oh,” she says, like she’s accepting the correction. But, Connor knows better. He can tell.

“Yes, specifically, I need to get into the Phoenix. It’s the biggest club. But, I’m not sure how. Evan was punched by them last week-”

“‘Punched’?” Sabrina cocks her head. “Like, violently?”

“No, no, no, it’s just a phrase. It just means that you, like, got chosen to try to get in. That’s just the word. No actual fists.” Sabrina keeps glancing towards the door. “I was thinking that I’m probably gonna get chosen to go for the club next year, when I’m a junior. And when I do, I can bring you to some of the events. Meals and parties and stuff. You can meet a lot of really important people that way, people you wouldn’t normally be able to meet.”

A muscle in Sabrina’s jaw jerks underneath her tanned skin. “You’d really do that for me?”

Connor nods, pleased with himself. “Yes.”

“Look,” Sabrina smiles, her white teeth shining out, hurting Connor’s eyes. “I should probably get going.”

Connor’s half-smile falls instantly off his face. “What do you mean? I thought-”

“I have to go home and study. Midterms, you know.”

He reaches out, “You don’t have to study.” _This was going so well, and you blew it, you fucking blew it, you fucking-_

Sabrina pulls her hand away, leaning back in her chair. “Yes, I do.”

“No, you don’t.”

“Why do you keep saying that?”

Connor huffs, “You go to _Boston University_ , you don’t have to study.”

Sabrina pulls away, yanking her entire body back like she’s been stung. “What did you just say to me?”

“I didn’t mean it like that, I just meant that-” _No, no, no, no._

“That just because I don’t go to Harvard like _some people_ , that I don’t have to study, that my education doesn’t matter. That’s what you meant, right?”

“I just-”

Suddenly, that smile spreads back across Sabrina’s face. It’s not a nice one, not like Evan’s. “Connor, are we dating?”

“Yes.”

“Well,” Sabrina’s smile doesn’t halt for a millisecond. “I want you to know that we’re not anymore.”

Connor freezes, “What?”

“I’m not your little trophy girlfriend, Connor. I can meet important people myself, I don’t need you to drag me around to those ridiculous meetings. I can be successful on my own, and B.U. is a good school. Also, Teddy Roosevelt didn’t get elected ‘cause he got into the Phoenix.”

“Actually, he was a member of the Porcellian, and-”

Sabrina stands up, straightening out her skirt, her dark eyes narrowed. “One day, Connor, I’m sure you’re gonna be a very important computer person-” 

He tries to interrupt, but she stops him, plowing onward, her palm flat on the tabletop, “And somewhere along the way, you’re gonna start to think that girls don’t like you because you’re a nerd. And, I want you to know, from the absolute bottom of my heart, that that won’t be true. Girls won’t dislike you because you’re too smart; they’ll dislike you because you’re a massive asshole.”

\---

The snow burns Connor’s near-bare feet as his traipses through the courtyard in black sandals he probably bought junior year of high school. He hasn’t gotten around to getting better winter shoes, no matter if he’s already been at this school for nearly two years. He just...hasn’t gotten around to it, so cold feet it is.

He’s not quite sure when his body stops really working and his brain starts to hyper-function, but it happens sometime before he reaches the Kirkland House. He doesn’t even notice he’s arrived at his dorm until he’s sat at his computer, a beer in front of him. Somehow, that beer becomes empty, and another beer appears.

He pulls up his blog. It’s a ridiculous thing, something his therapist convinced him to start senior year of high school and something he hasn’t been able to give up yet. His thoughts pour out unhinged, his fingers flying across the keyboard.

He hasn’t smoked in six months but his mind is aching for it. It would take the edge off, better and faster than alcohol ever could. He cracks his knuckles, resisting the longing.

**Sabrina Patel is a bitch. Maybe that’s because everyone from B.U. is a bitch. It’s a shitty school full of shitty people and anyone who tries to say otherwise is lying. Okay, so, she has a nice face. But, really, deep-down she’s just sad and angry.**

He hits ‘Post’ just as Jared clears his throat, apparently in the dorm room as well. “You good, Connor?”

**Sure, I may be getting a little drunk even though it’s not even 10PM on a Tuesday night. But her words keep running through my head over and over and over. “One day, Connor, I’m sure you’re gonna be a very important computer person.” Well, I better be, because that’s the only fucking thing I’m good at. I can code, I can design, I can hack. Better than anyone else at this damn school, and I’ll show it to you.**

Connor doesn’t say anything for a while, barely registering the comment. He pulls up the Kirkland picture directory, scrolling through the pages and pages of horrible portraits. 

Jared settles up next to him, observing each scroll. “Jesus, some of these pictures. Some of these looks worse than a cow or something.” Connor continues typing:

**I’m looking through Kirkland’s face book and some of these people have some pretty horrendous pics. Jared Kleinman’s sitting next to me, and he came up with the idea of putting pictures of farm animals next to these pics and having people vote on who’s hotter. It all has a very “Turing” feel. The first thing we’re gonna need is a lot more pictures.**

Connor takes another swig of beer, finishing the post.

Let the hacking begin.

 **Okay, so I’m not going to do the farm animal thing, but I’ve got a better idea. I was able to download Kirkland’s entire facebook with some WGET magic through their Apache configuration. Elliot’s can be downloaded with some Mozilla restructuring. I’ll definitely have to modify the perl script on Leverett, though.**

He continues like that, slowly moving through thousands upon thousands of images. Sometime between Dunster and Adams, Alana Beck walks in, laptop in hand, watching wearily. He continues hacking and configuring and modifying until finally, just after midnight, it’s all there.

Their front door springs open again. Evan Hansen peaks around the corner, still wearing some ridiculous suit. Connor hates the damn things, hates how restrictive they are, how fake, but Evan loves them, loves looking important.

Jared watches him, “What are you doing up so late, Mr. I-Wake-Up-At-Six-AM?” 

Evan glances at Connor, who pretends not to notice the careful look. “The first Phoenix party was today.” Connor tries to imagine Evan at a party and instantly fails. Evan sighs, “They were all talking about my weather stuff, about the-” he pauses. “About the money I made over the summer. I think that’s why they invited me? But, I think it went well.”

“It’s great that you got this far,” Jared adds. “And even if they don’t ask you back, this is still something to be proud of, getting this far.”

Alana thwacks him on the side of his arm, “Don’t say that, you twat.” Jared, despite his best attempts, never got punched by the Phoenix and was told that he “never will” by one of the members. He may be just a little bitter. “They probably loved him.”

“Well,” Jared smiles, but it doesn’t reach his eyes. “Who wouldn’t love our Ev, running around in his little suits.”

Evan pulls at his jacket sleeves, “I wasn’t the only one dressed nicely.”

Alana starts typing again, probably working on some assignment that’s not due for three weeks. “Sometimes, looking good isn’t a bad thing.” She looks Jared up and down, raising her eyebrows. “Though, I’m sure, what with your wardrobe of graphic t-shirts and jean shorts, that concept must be very confusing.”

Jared and Alana begin bickering again, throwing harmless insults back and forth. Slowly, Evan’s attention turns to Connor. He leans over his computer, interrupting Connor’s train of thought. “Are you okay?” His voice is soft, like he knows something, like he already knows something is wrong.

Connor begins copying the photos. “Sabrina broke up with me. She left me at the bar.”

“What?” Jared spins around in his chair, glaring at Connor. 

Evan doesn’t move, doesn’t even react. Connor looks at him, “How did you know?”

Evan keeps glancing at Connor’s computer as he slowly undoes his tie, loosening it with nimble fingers. Red raises on his cheeks, caught. “It’s on your blog.”

Connor forgets every once in a while that his blog is actually public. And that some people, like Evan and his mother, probably, actually check it regularly. Shit.

“Did she at least pay for her stuff?” Alana says between lines of code.

Connor clears his throat. “We actually had only ordered a few drinks, so…”

“So, how long is that, then?” Jared smirks. “Under ten minutes?”

“Under five, if the waiters were fast,” Alana adds, still not looking up from her computer.

Jared nudges Connor with the tip of his shoe. Gross. “Must be a new world record.”

Connor scoots away from them, turning back to Evan, his hand still resting on his computer. “I need you.”

Instantly, Evan comes around to Connor’s side of the desk, kneeling down so they’re face-to-face. “I’m here for you.”

Connor can feel heat in his cheeks rising. “No, I mean, I need that algorithm you used last year to rank chess players.”

“Why, what are you doing?”

“We’re ranking girls,” Connor begins. “And guys. We’re ranking everyone.”

“Other students?”

Connor resists the urge to roll his eyes. “Yes. We’re putting two pictures side by side and letting people vote on who’s hotter.”

Evan’s fingernails are starting to tap rapidly against the tabletop. “Why, though?”

He thinks, _Because we’ve all been ranked for years. Because we were all ranked before we got accepted into this school. QPA and GPA and SAT and ACT and other three-letter intelligence tests that have no real meaning. Extracurriculars and sports and essays and letters of recommendation. Ranked on economic status and friends. Ranked to get into fucking university clubs. But, throughout it all, more than anything else, we’ve been ranked on how we look. Our hair and our eyes and our bodies, commodities to be upvoted and downvoted._

Connor shrugs. “Because we can. Because it’s a Tuesday night, and I don’t have any morning classes, and I’m bored.” Before he can oppose any further, Connor continues. “Please, Evan. I need the algorithm.”

And soon enough Evan’s scrolling it across their window with an Expo marker, moving through variables and numbers at lightning speed. 

Then, just after one o’clock, it’s finished. It’s published. _Facemash.com._

Connor sends the link to Jared, who sends them to the chess club, who sends them to the fencing club. Connor closes the laptop, and his mind is clear. 

He gets another beer. He frowns, glancing down at the drops of condensation cascading into his hands and then at empty-handed Evan. “Aren’t you going to get one?”

“I’m only twenty,” Evan retorts. The words have a hard ending, but Evan’s eyes are searching Connor’s face, looking him up and down, flitting from feature to feature, looking for something. 

They’re some sort of brown, deep with flecks of deep green, the kind of green you can only find in something natural, something pure and good.

“And I'm nineteen.” Connor takes a swig of the drink.

Jared clears his throat obnoxiously, watching Connor and Evan the same way he always does: suspiciously, drawn-back and simultaneously wanting to know every thought that flickers through each of their heads. 

“So...” Connor flinches back before Evan even finishes the sentences, knowing full-well what’s coming. “Sabrina broke up with you.” Evan’s eyes shift back to Connor, his eyebrows furrowed. Evan does it so well. The whole showing emotion thing. Connor prefers to think of himself like a computer, with layers and layers of firewall protecting every single feeling. “What did you do?”

The beer in Connor’s hand feels a few degrees colder than before. “I didn’t do anything.”

Evan, Jared, and Alana all shoot him the same knowing glance. Every expression reads: _That’s fucking ludicrous, Connor, because you always do something. You’re always the one to fuck something up somehow, somehow in record speed to a good girl. A nice and smart and passionate girl who could’ve-_

Evan presses his knee to Connor’s. Tan, clean, pressed khakis against the same black jeans Connor has now worn four days in a row. _How the fuck did you even get into this school?_ “What happened?” he rephrases, kindly. He still has the slightest bit of an accent on certain words, a rounded tilt that wouldn’t be there to a native English-speaker. Connor’s heart feels too warm in his chest.

Connor inhales slowly, “It was my fault.”

“Progress!” Jared shouts from the couch, smirking. “Finally, someone’s admitting the truth.”

Alana presses one final ‘Enter’ key and closes her laptop, her eyes narrowed.

Connor exhales. Now _everything_ feels too warm. “I said some things I shouldn’t have said. Which, I realize now in retrospect, but at the time, it felt like I was just telling the truth. Like, I said that she doesn’t have to study because she goes to B.U.” Jared groans, dropping his head into his hands defeatedly. “But! She really doesn’t have to study, because it’s _B.U._ ”

Alana sits back in her seat, staring out a nearby window. “Sometimes, something that’s difficult to one person is different than what’s difficult to another person. It doesn’t mean that one challenge is somehow less challenging or real than the other, okay? We all can do different things.”

Everything is still for a moment. 

Jared sighs, “I didn’t think actual intelligent things were allowed to be said in this room.”

“That’s because you’re in it,” Connor shoots back. Evan flicks him lightly on the thigh, shushing them all. 

Connor pretends not to be hyper-aware of how Evan’s hand stays resting just beside Connor’s leg on the couch. He definitely doesn’t stare at it for over 30 seconds. Definitely not.

“Well,” Jared signs. “That was, of course, before you called her a ‘bitch’ on your public blog.”

“I should probably delete that.” Connor doesn’t reach for his computer. He doesn’t want to think about it. Doesn’t want to think about anything. Thousands and thousands of college pictures are still racing through his head.

It doesn’t matter, though. The website was just a little thing, just something he drummed up in three hours. Maybe it’ll get twenty hits overnight. Probably not even that. Nothing he ever does actually goes anywhere. _Fucking failure._

“How about we all go back to feeling sad for Connor?” Jared suggests, slouching off of the couch and over to the television, thumbing through DVDs. “Maybe we can feel bad for him while watching _Raiders of the Lost Arch_?”

“What about-” Connor begins, but a chorus of voices interrupts him, finishing his inevitable conclusion.

“What about _A New Hope_ , we know.” Evan stands up, stretching slightly. Connor completely ignores how the bottom of Evan’s t-shirt slips up his waist just a bit. His brain is starting to feel like mashed potatoes. He’s too intoxicated for any of this.

Alana grins, pulling open her laptop again. “We know you had a Star Wars-themed bar mitzvah, Connor, but we are not watching that movie for the 34th time.”

They end up deciding on some nature documentary Evan had bought the week prior. It was apparently about climate change and reminded them every few moments that the entire world is going to flood if they don’t essentially overthrow the entire system of capitalism.

About an hour into the film, Evan is leaning forward off of the couch, his chin resting in his hands, his eyes flickering across the screen, completely enraptured. Jared and Alana are asleep. 

And Connor is pretending to watch the movie. He’s actually watching the muscles in Evan’s back move every time he leans further forward, but he’s ignoring that fact for the time being.

Soon enough, though, between plenty of yawns and Jared’s snoring, the ending credits finally roll around. Evan sinks back into the couch, an expression of wonder and energy clear across his face. Connor frowns for a moment, “Why are you majoring in economics?”

“What?”

“You obviously like the weather, and nature, and all that. Why economics?”

Evan pulls at an invisible loose string on his sleeve. “There’s no money in meteorology. Barely anything in the environmental sciences, either. Or at least, definitely not as much money as being a Wall Street stockbroker would get you.”

The soft music of the ending credits fills the room. “Is that what you want to do, be some sort of broker?”

“No,” Evan swallows, leaning forward like he wants to say something more, wants to clarify and dig deeper. But, he stops himself. 

He always stops himself. 

“I think I’ll just be an investment advisor. Maybe an angel investor.” Evan’s back to tugging at the fabric around his wrists. “I don’t think I’m cut out for Wall Street.”

Suddenly, everything’s getting too warm again. Connor can feel Evan’s body right next to his, present and there and a little hazy. Evan must sense it, too, because he pulls back. “I’m sorry about Sabrina.”

“It’s fine. I deserved it.” _Maybe you fucked it up on purpose,_ he thinks, looking at Evan. Connor quickly ignores that thought.

Evan chews on the inside of his lower lip. “Did you-” he stops, trailing off. “Did you like her?”

Connor remembers her bright eyes and smooth skin and thick hair. “I did, I think. Not as-I don’t think she liked me much, though, so it’s for the best.”

“How could she not like you?”

Connor snorts, huffing. “I’ll have you know that there are plenty of people who don’t like me.” For a brief second, the image of Zoe flashes through his head, following nearly instantaneously by Larry and Cynthia. Connor squeezes his eyes shut, trying to block it all out.

Evan doesn’t say anything. He normally doesn’t.

Connor fills the silence. “It’s still surprising that you don’t realize that.”

Shrugging, Evan looks at some piece of the floorboard. He eyes Alana and Jared’s sleeping forms and lowers his voice to a whisper. “I guess you and Jared sometimes argue. But, beyond that...”

Connor pushes his hair back again. “We’ve never had a class together, and you’ve never met my family. That’s how I’ll explain it.”

Evan nods, slowly, but Connor can tell he doesn’t fully agree with what he’s saying. There’s silence again.

Connor knows what’s coming next the moment Evan shifts in his seat. “It’s three in the morning,” he says, before Evan can say anything. “How ‘bout you just spend the night here?” Before the inevitable protests and assurances emerge, Connor forges ahead. “And it’s mighty spooky out there this time of night in old Cambridge!”

Evan cracks a smile. It might be his first all night. “Why are you talking like some sort of old timey ghost-hunter.”

One of Jared’s eyes peaks open, surveying the room. “It’s because he actually is an old timey ghost-hunter.” He sits up, stretching. “And, before you ask, I only just woke up. I didn’t hear any love declarations or anything that must’ve been going on two minutes ago.”

Connor throws a pillow at Jared’s face. A blush blooms across Evan’s skin.

Slowly, everything settles down again. Alana slips into her room next door as Jared slinks into his bedroom. Evan insists on sleeping on the couch, and Connor doesn’t want to think about arguing with him. Doesn’t want to think about sleeping in the same bed as him.

Connor can hear Evan’s pills rattle in their bottle as he swallows them down just out of sight. They never really talk about that. About Evan’s pills, about who Evan used to be. They never talk about last year either. About Connor’s pills, about who Connor used to be. _About who Connor still is._

Eventually, Connor lays down. His skin feels dry, his hair greasy. 

Sabrina’s disappointed eyes flash through his mind. _Girls won’t dislike you because you’re too smart; they’ll dislike you because you’re a massive asshole._ Connor supposes that assessment applies to guys, too, and everyone else. Because what if he doesn’t just want girls to like him. To really like him.

He presses the pads of his thumbs into the sides of his arms. It doesn’t hurt, but it feels like something. At least he can feel something. He’s been clean. He’s not going to fuck that up, on top of everything else.

Zoe’s face flickers in the recess of his brain.

The warmth of Evan’s hand on his thigh burns.

His bed feels too big.

Just a few feet away, his laptop’s function fizzles to a halt as the Harvard server crashes. Turns out Facemash.com got 22,000 hits in four hours.

Then, after an hour of restless tossing and turning, completely unaware of the chaos unfolding around him, Connor Murphy finally goes to sleep.


	2. painted sun in abstract

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> If it were anyone else, they would leave Connor alone, they would recognize that he’s not in the greatest mood and let him be. But, this is Evan, and Evan always follows him.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> hello hello!! i'm so sorry this chapter to f o r e v e r, but the ending of school was super hectic! but, here it is! i hope you enjoy <3
> 
> slight tw for suicidal ideation and mention of past hospitalizations.

Connor Murphy is not in the fucking mood.

Twenty-odd eyes stare at him, waiting an answer he’ll never give, to a question he didn’t hear. He could ask them to repeat it, ask them to take a minute and wait until Connor’s ears stop being so full of his own thoughts that he can actually hear something-- _anything_ \--else. Instead, he just sort of sits there, in his black skinny jeans and hooded shirt.

His mind races, just like always. Facemash.com got 22,000 hits in two hours, in a school with less than 7,000 undergraduates. 22,000-- _twenty-two thousand_ \--people saw Facemash, saw his program, his hacking skills, his website, in two hours. Connor has probably only met and introduced himself to a maximum of two hundred people in his entire lifetime. 

He should be celebrating, he should be working on something new, he should be the toast of the town. Instead, he’s sitting in front of twenty administrators being punished for hacking into their very hackable websites. _Absolute bullshit._

Suddenly, he can hear again, and the ad-board’s question finally registers.

He digs his nails into the palm of his hand. “I’ve already apologized in the school newspaper. I didn’t mean to offend anyone with the website, and, if I did, then I’m sorry.” He rehearsed this in the mirror before coming. “But, in regards to breaking school code or receiving any sort of school-mandated punishment, that won’t work.” One of the administrators tilts her head, obviously confused. “I believe, if anything, this board should thank me.”

“What?” another administrator, this one dressed in an ill-fitted suit, says.

“I pointed out some holes in your system, which, by the way, took me a few hours to hack and you three days to fix.”

Some of the system programmers begin to protest, shooting all sorts of dirty looks at him. 

That’s when he completely tunes out.

\----

Twenty minutes later, Evan is pressing a hot coffee into his hands, even though- “I know you don’t drink coffee,” Evan admits, watching Connor slowly accept the beverage anyway. “I just thought it’d be nice to bring you something hot.”

Connor lets the heat shoot through his hands, stinging. “Six months academic probation,” he mumbles.

Evan sighs deeply, sounding far too much like Cynthia. “I told you that it wasn’t a good idea.”

“I know,” Connor says.

“I tried to stop you.”

Connor turns, eyes narrowing, his voice creeping to a higher volume. “I said I know.”

Evan looks down, blinking, “At least they didn’t expel you.”

Connor shrugs, and their conversation halts to an abrupt end.

They walk back to Connor’s dorm, the bitter winter wind nipping at them incessantly, and Evan gnawing at his lower lip the entire journey.

Jared is lying across the couch when they arrive, textbooks and papers strewn across the room. He’s got a notecard in his hands, slowly tearing it into smaller and smaller pieces. “I’m just gonna fail my calculus midterm, I’ve already decided it. No use studying now,” he says, before going to throw the little bits of torn notecard into a bin.

Evan lunges forward, grabbing his wrist and pulling him back. He takes the pieces from Jared, kneeling and spreading them out on the table, putting everything back together. 

Jared looks at Connor over Evan’s hunched form. 

The eye contact lasts a little too long. 

“I can help you,” Evan offers, and a cold, bitter feeling pools in Connor’s stomach. 

He doesn’t have a thing for Evan, he doesn’t.

And even if he did, it wouldn’t matter. Evan’s the kind of person who helps someone else study for calculus. He’s too good, too good for Connor.

As the sun sets outside their windows, Evan leads Jared through five months of calculus, motioning and gesturing. Connor tries to code, tries to think of something to write, something to distract his mind. Facemash was shut down, but now people are beginning to recognize him, beginning to know his name. He needs to do something else, something bigger and better. And he needs to do it now.

He stares at the blank screen. Nothing works.

Alana arrives eventually, linguistics textbook tucked underneath her arm. She plops down next to Evan. Soon enough, the three of them are all working together as Connor keeps staring at his blackened computer screen. 

Eventually, the problems sets are completed. Connor stops scratching his palm just before it starts to bleed.

They order a pizza, watching reruns. Evan pays, because he’s the only one of them with any money. Connor pretends not to notice the twenties lining his wallet, tries not to feel angry at someone who’s only ever been good to him.

He gets a beer.

Halfway through another episode of some inane sitcom, Evan leans forward and mutes the television. He pulls his bag up, digging through it, yanking out an envelope. Connor can tell he’s opened the letter nearly one hundred times, reading and re-reading it. The edges and creases are almost entirely smoothed out.

“I got this yesterday,” he murmurs. A beat. “I made the second cut at the Phoenix.”

All the breath rushes out of Connor’s lungs. It’s completely silent for a moment, and then Alana rushes forward, pulling him into a hug. “Congratulations! You deserve it!”

The Phoenix Club. The most desirable club on campus. The one Connor has been thinking about ever since he first heard about Harvard.

Alana got into the IC Club last year, the youngest member ever at Harvard’s oldest all-women final club; Jared joined Alpha Epsilon Pi, the Jewish fraternity, with Evan; Connor sits alone in his room and hacks into websites, and then gets six months of academic probation while simultaneously alienating everyone on campus.

The voice of one of his old therapists rings in his head, but he can’t quite make out her words.

Evan cracks his knuckles. “I don’t think I’ll get it. It’s probably-I mean, it's probably just a diversity thing, that I even got this far.”

Alana’s jaw clenches, and Jared rolls his eyes, “Come on! ‘Evan Hansen’ doesn’t exactly ring ‘Brazilian Jew’ to me.”

Evan starts picking at his cuticles, glancing up for a fraction of a second. “You can kind of tell by looking at me, though.”

Alana wacks his arm, “You made the second cut because you’re an amazing person and student. Because you’re smart and funny and made $300,000 in two months all on your own. Stop doubting yourself.”

Evan smiles, for the first time that day, giving Alana another little half-hug. “Thank you.”

“Also,” Jared nudges Evan with his elbow, “that’s not your only good news.”

“What do you-”

Jared huffs, turning to Alana and Connor like he’s got the biggest scoop of gossip on campus. His eyes seem darker than usual. Or maybe it’s just the lighting. “So, at the AEPi party last week, Evan met a _girl_.” At Alana’s exaggerated gasp, Jared plunges onward. “And then--get this--he went out to get coffee with her yesterday.”

“How did you know-”

Jared huffs again. Connor decides he does that way too often. “You got a text message that said, ‘I had a really great time getting coffee yesterday. Do you wanna hang out this weekend, after midterms?’ like an hour ago. You really shouldn’t just leave your phone laying around.”

“You shouldn’t be reading other people’s text messages,” Evan hisses.

“What’s her name?” Connor croaks, his voice tight from lack of use.

Evan glances at him, then back at Jared. “Her name is Zoe,” he says slowly. “She goes to the Massachusetts Institute of Technology.”

All of the blood in Connor’s body freezes. _It’s a common name, it’s a common name, it’s a common name, it’s-_

Jared nods, looking at Connor intently. “And she’s majoring in cognitive sciences and planetary engineering. Ridiculously smart.”

Evan shrugs tentatively, “With a minor in French.”

Alana chuckles, “What kind of career can you make out of that?”

Connor squeezes the can in his hand until it dents. “She wants to work with the French department at the International Space Station.”

Evan’s eyes flicker over to him instantly, surprised. “You know her?”

“She’s my sister.”

Three words.

Three words, and everything halts.

Evan’s jaw drops, his eyes wide, petrified, “I didn’t know, I had no idea-”

“Murphy isn’t an uncommon last name,” Connor says. His face morphs into something that probably looks like a grimace. He can’t control it. 

He can’t control anything.

Code runs through his mind, beeping and hissing.

01001001 00100000 01100100 01101111 01101110 00100111 01110100 00100000 01110111 01100001 01101110 01110100 00100000 01110100 01101111 00100000 01100010 01100101 00100000 01100001 01101100 01101111 01101110 01100101 00101110

“I didn’t even know her last name, I had no idea,” Evan repeats. “If there was a way...If I could’ve known, I wouldn’t have-I wouldn’t have done that. I know-” 

Evan stops himself before he says something more. Something like the truth, like _I know that your family hates you and that you don’t want to have any connections with them, especially your sister. And also I probably know that you might like me in a way you shouldn’t, which is another reason why you’re upset that I’m dating someone._

“No, no, it’s fine. I get it. You two are perfect for each other.”

“What do you mean?”

Connor swallows. “You’re both so...smart.” _And don’t think about plunging off the side of a bridge every time you walk over one. And you turn in your homework on time, and don’t sleep until noon on weekends. And are just good._

“I’m just...I’m going to go,” Connor finishes, lamely, feeling like a freight train as he trudges to his room.

He can hear hushed voices as he tries and fails to not slam the door.

“Did you know?” Evan’s whispering, and Connor can imagine his expression. Wide eyes accusing, arms crossed over his chest.

He can almost see Jared's snicker. “I had an idea, but I didn’t know for sure. I thought you’d want to tell him.”

“I’m not even really dating her.”

Jared laughs, a cackling noise that Connor decides he hates. “Sure.” And then: “What, are you upset that this annoyed your boyfriend?”

“Fuck off, Jared." That's Alana. "Stop being such a douche.”

Evan talks through gritted teeth, “Connor and I are not dating, first of all, and-”

Connor zones out again after that, thinking of code and type and computers, until: “Connor!” 

If it were anyone else, they would leave Connor alone, they would recognize that he’s not in the greatest mood and let him be. But, this is Evan, and Evan always follows him.

Connor remembers dimly how they first met, how Jared took pity (always pity) on him last winter and refused to let his roommate stay alone in their room on Chanukah. Rather than just leave Connor alone to be cold and finish his programming homework, he brought Connor with him to none other than Evan Hansen’s dorm. Evan had a single, miraculously, and hung up little menorah and Star of David streamers all over the walls. Most of the economics majors were invited, Jewish or not, and the entire dorm was filled with noise and food.

Somehow, Connor ended up sitting next to Evan the whole evening. Evan talked about how he’s never hosted a party before, how he threw up twice before anyone got there, how he’s already had too much red wine. But, he says that he promised his mom he would “reach out” to more people in college. He rambled a lot about nothing in particular, filling up space as Connor remained quiet. 

He had deep-set eyes and big hair and a soft voice. Connor listened to his slight accent and though about the WASP-y kids in his art history class (it’s mandatory, don't judge him) with their sharp noses and thin, blonde hair. About how they probably don’t have a yearning for any past, because their history is _here_ , has been here for generations and generations. He thought about his dad, for the first time in too many months.

About halfway through the night, Evan’s breathing started to get faster and faster as the room around him got louder and louder. He’d never had this many people in his space, had never had to entertain this many people, had never chosen this for himself before.

When Evan excused himself, Connor was the one who followed him. They stood in the hallway, until Evan’s breathing slowed back to normal, until his chest stopped heaving and redness left his face. Connor didn’t really do anything, just stood with him. And apparently that was enough.

Once they went back inside, Evan read a post-meal prayer, his Hebrew clean and clear and precise. His eyes were closed, his head bowed. Connor didn’t know the prayer. He barely had a bar mitzvah, had forgotten almost all of Hebrew except a few choice insults. But Evan knew every word.

Connor didn’t know whether to be impressed or jealous, so he decided upon a healthy mix of the two, along with a smidge of something undefinable.

After that, Evan just sort of inserted himself into Connor’s life.

Evan peaks into the room as Connor sits down on his bed, tapping out Morse code onto the sheets. He memorized it when he was little. He loved the secret.

.--. .-.. . .- ... . / -.. --- -. .----. - / .-.. . .- ...- . / -- . .-.-.-

Then, after one too many moments of silence, he sacrifices himself and says, “I have a new idea for a website.” He almost surprises himself when he says it, but he realizes, all too quickly, that it’s true. He knows what to do.

Evan sighs, put-upon, “We should talk about this.” He sits down on the bed. On Connor Murphy’s bed.

Connor grimaces, “Is that something your therapist told you to say?”

Evan pulls back like Connor punched him. “What?”

“I said-”

“I know what you said.”

Connor turns his head, finally looking at Evan. “Then why did you say ‘what’?”

Evan narrows those brown eyes slowly, and Connor’s heart-rate picks up. “I was asking more why you would say that, why you would throw my therapist in this, like going-like going to therapy is something I should be ashamed of.”

Connor pushes his hair back. It’s getting too long. He probably hasn't gotten in cut in two years. “I wasn’t saying you should be ashamed of therapy.”

That information was also from one of their late-night post-movie talks, with Jared and Alana asleep on a couch next to them. Evan had told Connor about his therapist, vaguely mentioning some bad times in high school. Connor had thought about telling Evan about his hospitalizations but ultimately decided against it. He’s on medication(s) now, and that’s all that matters.

“What were you saying?” This is the Evan that Connor rarely sees, that anyone rarely sees, with narrowed eyes and clenched fists and a lowered voice. The Evan that will fight back.

“I don’t know!” Connor glances at the door, lowering his voice. Jared’s probably listening in on every word. “It doesn’t matter.” 

Evan opens his mouth like he wants to say something, even though the last thing Connor wants to do right now is talk about his family or his emotions or whatever. So, Connor stops him, tacking on, “And congratulations about the Phoenix. That’s great.”

He doesn’t say, _Are you going to leave me when you get in? Are you going to abandon me for your cool new friends? Your friends with money and power and esteem who don’t think like this, who have never been hospitalized and never will be._

And then, _Don’t leave me all alone, I can’t do this all alone._

Evan’s face softens. “Thank you. You could-you should try to get in next year.”

Connor nods rather than respond. It won’t happen. They won’t want him. He clears his throat, “I’m not angry that you’re dating my sister.”

Evan gnaws on his lower lip again. Connor watches the way the movement makes his lips turn red. “I’m really not even dating her. We got coffee, once. Jared’s just always making things bigger than they need to be. I don’t even know if I...” Evan trails off. “Do you miss Sabrina?”

“Who?”

Evan looks at him like he’s sprouted a second head, resting his hand on Connor’s shoulder as though to stabilize him. “Your ex-girlfriend, Sabrina Patel… Do you miss her?” 

Connor looks at the hand, the way Evan’s hand covers most of his shoulder. Evan’s at least three inches shorter than him, but he’s got big hands. Connor tears his eyes away. “We weren’t right for each other,” he says, carefully.

He tries not to think about nice hands and sturdy chests and deep voices and how right that might feel, because he's not-. He's not like that.

Evan looks at him sympathetically, patting his shoulder once more before moving away.

“So,” Connor starts, forcing his voice to sound even a little normal. “I’m not upset about my sister, but I am angry that you’re not listening to my great idea for a new website, though.”

“Go on then,” Evan says.

“People didn’t come to Facemash because they saw pictures of hot people. You can go anywhere on the Internet to find that.” Evan nods slowly, and the words start coming to Connor in a stampede, just like when he’s coding. “They came because they saw pictures of people they knew. People want to go online and find people they know, their friends. So, why not make a website just for that, where you can find profiles and pictures of all sorts of people. Your roommates or even some guy--somebody--you just met at a party.”

He keeps going. Some people say he's too callous, too impulsive and judgement and downright mean. But he's _smart_ , and that matters. “But it wouldn’t be a dating site. I’m talking about taking the entire social experience of college and putting it online.” His fingers twitch, ready already to start making it, to begin.

Evan’s still nodding, his brow furrowed, processing. “Who would be able to join?” Evan ponders for a moment as Connor shrugs. “What if...what if you needed to have a Harvard.edu email to join?”

Everything falls into place.

“It would be exclusive,” Connor breathes, his mind racing even faster. There's too much space, too many possibilities.

“And you’d be able to choose whether or not people can see your page. You’d have the ability to invite or not invite someone. Like getting punched.”

A grin spreads across Connor’s face. “Like a final club, except we’re the Presidents.”

 _And it’ll be mine and all those motherfuckers at the Phoenix and at clubs and in high school will be on it--because_ everyone _will be on it--but it won’t be theirs. It’ll never be theirs._

Evan’s smile fades minutely. “Why didn’t you go to Jared or Alana about this? I don’t know anything about coding or website-building.”

Connor cracks his knuckles. “I need one thousand dollars. Start-up money, to rent the servers and get everything online.” _And because Jared's Jared, and Alana's too busy. And because you’re my best friend and I don’t want to do this with them, I want to make this with you._

Evan nods slowly, “One thousand dollars.” The number races through the air, its three zeroes heavier with each passing second until: “Okay. Yeah. Let’s do this.” Connor can see his own excitement reflected back at himself from those eyes. “What should it be called?”

Connor grins again. “The Facebook.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> and there we go! thank you sm for all the lovely support on chapter 1, and i love, love, love comments. they really are what make me write <3 thank you all for reading <3

**Author's Note:**

> thank you so much for reading! and i know it's Unrealistic for connor to date a girl BUT i've got a reason so bare with me. and this whole thing is very, very self-indulgent, simply because i adore dear evan hansen AND the social network and wanted to blend the two worlds. if you want more of this, please please please do comment! i probably won't continue writing this if there's not much feedback aghdafkdlasjfa. also, this is my first time writing from connor's perspective so please be nice! and come find me on tumblr [here](http://neglectedrainbow.tumblr.com/).


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